tagExhibitionist & VoyeurBabysitting the Baumgartners Ch. 01

Babysitting the Baumgartners Ch. 01


I was fifteen when I started babysitting for the Baumgartners. They had two kids. Henry and Janie were four and five that first time I sat in their living room eating pizza with them and watching "Lilo and Stitch" until they both conked out on the floor, their greasy faces smearing their mom's white carpet.

I loved babysitting for them—Mr. Baumgartner ("Call me Doc, everybody does") usually came home drunk enough to pay me way too much for the night. Mrs. Baumgartner (she never said to call her anything but Mrs. Baumgartner, although I did shorten it to "Mrs. B" over the years) was very pretty and nice and kept really good ice cream (Häagen-Dazs) in the freezer. They had a huge TV, an enormous house, and I became their regular babysitter every Friday night, sometimes Saturdays, too, all through high school.

They hated it when I started dating. I used to have my little sister, Amy, go babysit when I had somewhere to go. It was actually a tough call for me—a date with Toby Lumetto, or babysitting for the Baumgartners. Amy complained that the kids never behaved for her, but they always did for me. They were great kids. I loved the Baumgartners and they loved me.

That's why they invited me on vacation with them, I think. The winter of the year I graduated high school, the Baumgartners went to Key West. When they came back, Mrs. Baumgartner swore she would never do it again without help. Henry was seven and Janie was eight, and they were "too much of a handful," she said. Just kids, I thought, but I wasn't their parent, I was pretty much their playmate. What did I know?

So the next winter, Mrs. Baumgartner called and asked if I wanted to come with them. All expenses paid, over the Christmas holiday—a free trip to Key West. It took me about five seconds to say, "Yes" to that proposition! My parents hemmed and hawed about it, but I was over eighteen now, and I could pretty much do what I wanted... technically. Finally, I got their blessing, packed my bags, and we were off to the land of sunshine and bikinis!

I had one, of course—a yellow and white suit, fairly respectable, since I was going to be taking the kids to the beach. It had a bikini top, but boy-shorts bottoms. I left the micro-suit at home. I figured Mrs. Baumgartner wouldn't approve. I don't know what she would have said about me wearing one, but boy, was I shocked when she stepped out of the house wearing her own black micro-bikini thong suit!

There was no one to see her, so I guess it was okay. The house was right on the ocean and had a private beach. Mr. Baumgartner said it was a time-share. Henry and Janie wanted to swim a lot, so I spent a lot of time trying to soak up some sun. December in Michigan wasn't exactly tanning weather, and I wanted to come back as sleek and brown as a seal.

It was on one of those mornings that Mrs. Baumgartner came out and joined me. The kids were making some sort of sand castle (really, it was more of a sand village—it spanned half the beach!) and I was reading a Nora Roberts novel.

"How are you feeling, Veronica?" she asked, laying out a large blanket on the white sand next to my towel. She was the only one who ever called me by my first name. Everyone else called me "Ronnie."

"Better," I replied, putting my book down and turning over onto my back. We'd ordered pizza the night before and it hadn't agreed with me. I shaded my eyes and looked over at the kids. They were now having a sand fight, throwing shovels of it at each other. I sighed. Someone was gonna start screaming any minute about sand in their eyes or their suit.

"Henry and Janie, you need to go in the house!" Mrs. Baumgartner called, stretching out on her stomach on the blanket.

"I can take care of them, Mrs. B," I said. Her bikini was a thong, and her bottom was completely exposed. I looked away. "That's what I'm here for, right?"

The kids had stopped at their mother's warning and were treaded through the sand toward us. They really were great kids. I wished sometimes that my sisters and I got along as well as they did.

"Why don't you two go in?" Mrs. Baumgartner said as they approached. "There's lunch on the counter, and Daddy hooked up the X-Box."

"Woo hoo!" Henry whooped, kicking up sand as he headed for the doorwall. Janie didn't look as thrilled, but the promise of lunch was enough to lure her into the house.

"You know, watching the kids isn't all you're here for, Veronica," Mrs. Baumgartner said after they went in, turning her face to me and resting her cheek on her folded arms. "Doc and I were just talking last night about how much you've done for us over the years. The kids adore you. You're like part of the family."

I flushed. "Thanks."

"You deserve to have a good vacation here, too." She smiled at me, her eyes creasing at the corners. I wondered how old she was. It was hard for me to judge how old people were—to me, they just seemed either old or young. Mrs. B wasn't really either. "It's the least we can do."

"If I can get a tan, that will be reward enough," I said, grabbing the oil next to my towel and pouring some into my hands. I worked it into my thighs and over my smooth, flat belly. I noticed her watching me. "Do you want some?"

"Sure," she said, taking the bottle from me and sitting up to squeeze a pool of glistening liquid into her palm, rubbing it over her shoulders and arms.

I slipped my boy short bottoms aside, checking for a tan line. I actually had one, which was thrilling to me, although it wasn't as dark as I wanted it to be.

"You can take it off," Mrs. Baumgartner said and when I looked over at her, she was untying her black bikini top around the neck and spreading oil over her full breasts. I knew I was staring, but I couldn't help it. She was blonde, although I'm not sure that was natural, and her skin was smooth and tawny, even there. Her nipples were brown, vastly different from my light pink ones.

"Wh—what?" I stammered, still staring. She was smoothing oil over her belly, which was softer and a little more rounded than mine, working it under the strings of her bikini and down into the grooves of her thighs.

"Your top," she said, massaging oil into her thighs and calves. "So you won't have any tan lines."

She laid on her back on the blanket, glancing over at me. I must have looked shocked. "No one can see, Veronica. It's a private beach—just us."

"What about the kids?" I asked, looking over my shoulder at the house.

"One word: X-Box." She adjusted herself, opening her thighs a little. I couldn't see a hint of hair under her bikini and wondered at it. Her body was fuller than mine, more rounded and soft. "I won't look. Don't be shy."

Her eyes stayed closed and I hesitated, looking up and down the beach. I pulled my top aside and checked my tan line—I was definitely getting one. Mrs. B's breasts were so large that they kind of sloped off to the side when she laid down. I was a little intimidated—mine were nowhere near as big—but it was the smooth, almost bronze color of her flesh that really convinced me. I wanted a tan without lines, too!

I untied my top and slipped it off, reaching for the oil. Squeezing some into my hands, I laid back and rubbed it into the swell of my breasts. It felt strange to be outside half-naked in full daylight—I hadn't gone topless on a beach since I was Janie's age. My nipples were small, pale pink pebbles on a puffy, rounded areola, and with the stimulation from my hands rubbing the oil in and the gentle breeze blowing in from the ocean, they were quite hard.

Mrs. B was humming something to herself, but I didn't know the tune. The rhythmic sound of the waves against the shore had me drifting in and out. Far away, I could hear a dog bark.

The heat of the sun was making me sweat, and I could feel it mixing with the oil and trickling down my sides. It was beading between my breasts. When I snuck a look over at Mrs. B, I noticed the same thing, only it was more pronounced on her already tanned skin. I adjusted myself on the towel, straightening out the edges where they had blown up at the corners.

Mrs. B shaded her eyes and peered at me with a smile. "Why don't you come over here? There's plenty of room on the blanket, and a lot less sand."

I considered it for a moment, and then stood, hopping from my little towel over to the larger blanket so as not to get too much sand on my feet. Settling down beside her on my back, I could feel the heat from her skin, but we weren't touching.

"You have lovely breasts," she murmured, and I could feel her shoulder pressing against mine where it hadn't been a moment ago.

"Th—thanks," I said. I was glad it was so warm to hide my flush. What did you say to someone who said that? "You do, too."

"I wish I still had the body of a nineteen year old," she said with a little laugh. "So firm and tight. There's not a crease or a wrinkle on you, is there?"

Now I was really flushing. "I think you have a beautiful body. When I have two kids, I hope I can still wear a bikini out on the beach. And a micro one, at that..."

She turned her face to mine, smiling at me. "Well, thank you for the compliment." I saw her eyes moving down over my breasts, and I was aware of how hard my nipples were.

This conversation was making me feel dizzy and very warm. Maybe it was the heat—but I was pretty sure it was the conversation and the fact that I was lying half-naked next to Mrs. Baumgartner with her thigh now pressing against mine. Our flesh was slick and oily together when she shifted, and it sent a gentle pulse to beating between my legs that seemed to be keeping time with the waves on the shoreline.

"Do you have a micro-bikini?" Mrs. B asked, her eyes closed again now. I was staring over at her body again, at the generous swell of her copper-colored flesh and her big, dark nipples. Hers were hard, too.

"Yeah," I said. "But I left it at home. I didn't think it would be... appropriate."

"You can borrow one of mine," she said, her thigh sliding along mine as she adjusted on the blanket. "If you want less of a tan line. I brought several."

"Thanks." I watched her breasts rising and falling, glistening in the sun. Her belly was beaded with sweat and oil.

"Do you shave?" she asked.


"Do you shave?" she repeated, opening one eye to look at me. "I wax, myself. It's much easier and takes care of things for a lot longer down there, if you know what I mean."

"No," I replied, snapping my eyes closed.

"Oh, to wear a micro, you just have to," she said, half-sitting. She touched my thigh, pulling my bikini bottoms aside a little to reveal the line of my dark pubic hair. "Yep, you'd definitely need to shave. Or, I brought some wax. You could wax it all. I do."

Shocked, I stared at her. I didn't know what I was more surprised by, her revelation or the fact that she pulled my bikini aside to look at my puss!

"It's actually fun," she said. "Not the waxing part—but having a shaved pussy."

I stared right up at the sun, blinking a few times so it made bright spots in the dark when I closed my eyes. I couldn't believe that Mrs. Baumgartner had just said the word "pussy" in my presence.

"Doc loves it," she went on, and I felt her hand against my hip, just resting there. "And it's so incredible to walk around that way. You feel so exposed... it's like a constant turn-on."

"Mrs. B..." I started, not even sure what I wanted to say.

"I'd be happy to help you," she offered. Her fingers were moving over the elastic tops of my bikini bottoms. "It's hard to do a bikini wax on yourself."

I put my arms up over my head, tilting my head back as if someone might be around to overhear this crazy conversation—someone to share my astonishment with.

"You think about it," Mrs. B said, her hand lightly stroking my side. I could feel that gentle throbbing between my thighs, more insistent now.

"Ok," was all I could say.

When I had tilted my head back, I had gotten a glimpse of someone on the balcony, high above us. It was Mr. Baumgartner—Doc—sitting outside on one of the white deck chairs, completely naked. His hand was moving up and down between his legs, very fast, and as I watched, thick, white streams of fluid erupted from the tip of his engorged cock and splashed down onto the balcony and the railing. His eyes never left mine.

"Mrs. B," I said, my voice trembling as I sat up. "I'm gonna go cool off, I'll be right back."

I stood, not sure I could stand, but I did, forgetting that I was topless. I walked, a little unsteady, toward the water and waded out into the cool waves, up to my neck. When I looked back, Mr. Baumgartner was gone, but Mrs. B was still watching me, shading her eyes from the sun.

When she waved, I waved back, feeling that steady, rhythmic pulse between my thighs. The coolness of the water only served to make the heat between my legs more pronounced. I floated on my back, watching the clouds drift, letting the waves rock me and once in a while overtake me. When I finally had the courage to get out, Mrs. B had gone into the house, and the beach was empty again.




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